<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Sweeter Than Honey Tea by ToxicBabes</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24882523">Sweeter Than Honey Tea</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicBabes/pseuds/ToxicBabes'>ToxicBabes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Tales of Apartment 8H [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Romance, Sickfic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 11:14:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,812</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24882523</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicBabes/pseuds/ToxicBabes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Maxim makes for a terrible patient when he falls ill with the flu and Timur is too soft on him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Maxim "Kapkan" Basuda/Timur "Glaz" Glazkov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Tales of Apartment 8H [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1705774</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sweeter Than Honey Tea</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Short sickfic that had been sitting in my thoughts for a while because there is nothing more tender than Timur giving a congested Maxim some kisses to make him feel better.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Every winter came with a bad bout of illness at Stirling Lines. It didn’t help that the barracks hosted a hefty amount of recruits and the base had plenty of traffic, all kinds of people coming in and out, dragging the dirt in with them. Gustave encouraged his colleagues to consider getting a flu jab in hopes to provide some form of buffer against whatever they would come in contact with, but after several years he realised he was wasting his breath. With a begrudging smile, he handed out throat lozenges and gave the usual advice of rest, water, and painkillers. </p><p>Maxim had his suspicions about Dominic when they shared a smoke several days prior. The German complained about aches and fatigue, stating Elias must have pushed him too hard during their workouts. He always had the appearance of a reanimated corpse, a mixture of his poor lifestyle and his age catching up to him, so Maxim didn’t think too much of it and offered him a cigarette, allowing him to come close to light it as well.</p><p>Then the following day, Maxim found himself more tired than usual. The workday crawled by and he forced himself to swallow down dinner before going to bed early. As much as he enjoyed sleeping and taking gratuitous naps in the afternoon, Maxim rarely went to bed early and Timur was always part of the sleeping routine. Yet tonight, Maxim wasn’t in the mood for anything. He crawled in bed, switched the lights off and by the time Timur checked up on him at ten o’clock, he was adrift in the deeper stages of the sleep cycle.</p><p>The alarm blared at six o’clock as usual and Maxim reached to turn it off. A dryness tickled his throat, though he had no inclination of getting up for a glass of water. Pinned under the weight of Timur’s body draped over him, Maxim closed his eyes to sleep some more, but he grew aware of every small movement shifting against him. Timur woke up several minutes later and nuzzled closer to him, holding him a little tighter before running his hands up Maxim’s chest to cup his cheek where the apex of his cheekbone was sharp and his stubble was sandpaper against Timur’s palm. At the distracting sensation, Maxim responded with a disgruntled grumble, brows furrowing in displeasure.</p><p>“It’s time to get up, old man,” Timur murmured as he played with the dog tags around Maxim’s neck, running the pad of his thumb over the inscriptions. The refusal troubled him, it wasn’t like Maxim at all to be stubborn and if anything, he was the one prying Timur off the mattress most days. “Are you okay?”</p><p>At first Maxim only noticed the sore throat. As he emerged from his slumber, he realised the ache in every inch of his body, the terrible tension built up in his head. He brought a hand to touch his forehead, drawing in a deep breath. “Could you get me some water?” He croaked back and in that very moment, Timur knew he wasn’t okay at all. </p><p>Without question, Timur fulfilled his request and returned with some paracetamol as well. He helped Maxim sit up and cast a pitiful look towards him. “There’s something going around at work. Mark caught it which was why he didn’t show up for training yesterday.” As Maxim moved to get out of bed, Timur stopped him and pressed him back down. “You should stay home. I’ll make you breakfast, alright? Stay in bed and rest.”</p><p>There wasn’t a whole lot to protest against. Maxim didn’t have the energy to push himself up on his elbows and once the bedroom fell into silence, he found his fatigue quickly returning to pull him back into an uncomfortable state of being unable to fall asleep due to his ailments. He drifted in and out of wakefulness. A hand brushed his hair away from his face and Maxim opened his eyes, realising how awful he felt now. There was no chance in hell he was going into work like this. </p><p>A warm mug of honey tea gave off a light aroma from where it sat on the bedside table. Next to it, a plate containing a simple sandwich Timur made for him. He sat on the edge of the bed and reached over, feeling the heat of Maxim’s forehead. </p><p>“You don’t seem to have a fever,” Timur murmured with a frown on his face, wishing there was anything he could do to make him more comfortable. “Eat. You’re not supposed to take those pills on an empty stomach.” The look he received was reluctant, Maxim couldn’t summon his appetite, but Timur was insistent. “C’mon, a couple bites.” </p><p>Until now, Maxim didn’t realise what it was like to be on the receiving side of being pestered at, but now he knew. Timur couldn’t maintain a stern look, he clasped his hand over Maxim’s thigh and remained unmoved, hoping the silence between them was convincing enough. It was clear Timur would gladly sit here until he was late for work, so Maxim took the plate and eyed the white bread before taking one bite. </p><p>As much as his body wanted to reject the food, Maxim washed it all down with some water and ignored the pain in his throat, leaving the crusts behind. He gave Timur a look that asked if he was happy now. Given how the tension in Timur’s expression eased a little, it took one worry off his mind. He took the plate and allowed Maxim some peace. </p><p>The hands on the clock shifted as Maxim lapsed in and out of sleep, blinking awake once every twenty minutes to strain his ears for the sound of Timur in the apartment. They usually left by half-seven to be punctual, though it seemed today Timur was taking his time and there was nothing Maxim could do to convince him to stop worrying and get to work.</p><p>The honey tea eased his symptoms slightly and Maxim forced himself to drink it down. The bedroom door creaked, it was Timur returning with some more water. He took the empty glass from the bedside cabinet and looked around to make sure he didn’t miss anything else before leaning forwards to press a light kiss onto Maxim’s forehead.</p><p>“I’m going now, but if you need me, call me. I don’t care what I’m doing, I’ll walk out of a meeting if I have to,” Timur said, a hand cupping Maxim’s face to hold him steady as he brushed back the older man’s hair much to his protest. “<em>Call </em> me, okay?”</p><p>Embarrassed by the immense care Timur had for him, Maxim only managed a hoarse hum in response. “Go. You’re gonna be late,” he murmured and scrunched his face at the continued affection. While he didn’t have a medical degree, he knew kisses weren’t a standard method of treatment for the flu. He could remember every single instance where he warned Timur to lay off the kisses when he was sick, yet illness seemed to make the sniper much more tender. As much as the actions were appreciated, hell often broke loose when both of them fell sick. </p><p>Minutes after Timur left the room, the quiet clinking of him fidgeting with the car keys could still be heard. He lingered for a while longer before leaving and Maxim heard no other sound, wondering if the younger man was just standing in the middle of the living room burning time for no particular reason. As Maxim was about to get out of bed, the front door closed with a click.</p><p>Work continued on as usual. There was a slight disruption to training with some absentees, but nothing anyone else couldn’t fill in. After the simulations, Timur spent some time in the testing chambers, helping out with Marius’ new gadget prototype. It wasn’t like he had anything else to do and he’d take any excuse to avoid typing up boring reports of training sessions. Unfortunately the testing fell short by lunch, that was when Marius reached his breaking point with improvised duct-tape revisions to the gadget and declared that he had to return to the workshop to fix its faults.</p><p>Under Marius’ wish for him to have a good lunch break, Timur made sure to take his time. He grabbed a coffee, a quick bite to eat and settled in the far corner of the break room. The expansive windows overlooked gloomy stretches of soggy turf, he was glad he wasn’t out there barking his voice hoarse at the recruits. Seeing as his phone remained unanimated long after he sent a text to Maxim, Timur figured he was likely still sleeping. </p><p>The break room door opened and an exhausted Gustave made a direct line for the coffee maker to receive his dose of caffeine, the only thing holding him together for the afternoon. The thought of fresh coffee appealed to Timur, today was one of those longer days. He sauntered up to the doctor and waited for his turn, awkwardly so when Gustave didn’t move and sipped at his cup, unaware.</p><p>There was the flustered exchange of apologies when Gustave noticed his presence. He stepped aside and watched as Timur helped himself, but something piqued his interest and he glanced around, curious as to why Maxim wasn’t loitering nearby as well.</p><p>“You’re alone today,” Gustave commented and leaned against the counter. A broad smile brightened his weary expression, even when exhausted the man managed to muster the energy to break a grin. Although it helped that Timur was on good grounds with Gustave. </p><p>“The flu.” That was all he had to say, enough for Gustave to chuckle and close his eyes in mock pain as if he hadn’t heard that word a million times today. The infirmary must be bursting at the seams with all the people who lived in the accommodations on the grounds. “I’ll be playing nurse for the next few days, I guess.”</p><p>Gustave patted him on the shoulder. “Tell Maxim to lay off the smokes,” he advised and moved to leave, but at the last second he paused and added. “You can say it’s doctor’s orders.” </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The toughest part of dealing with illness wasn’t the constant coughing waking Timur up at night or the request for water refills, honey and raspberry tea, any drug on earth to put Maxim out of his misery. Timur would gladly clean up buckets of vomit from the floor if it meant for once in almost forty years of his life, Maxim would take some help without making a fuss out of it. He didn’t like to be coddled or looked after, but in times like this he certainly needed it and nothing infuriated Timur more than having to nag. </p><p>Plus he hated seeing Maxim this way. Pale, exhausted of all energy, frustrated at himself for being unable to even get out of bed. He spent most of his time asleep, or simply laying there in a mixed state of self-pity and anger. It was difficult to tell, it looked as if he had to concentrate on sleeping. When he managed a few hours of wakefulness, he’d check his phone, watch a video or two, crawl to the balcony for a smoke despite Timur’s chastising. </p><p>Since the only chef in the house was incapacitated, Timur was responsible for feeding them over the next few days. It was common knowledge by now that his cooking skills were mediocre at best. Over the years, the only dish he was confident in making was simple pasta with bolognese, but even then the sauce was store bought and he could never figure out how to get the flavour right. Needless to say, he’d never been awarded the title of househusband in his entire life. </p><p>He stood over the bubbling pot without much thought passing by, stirring occasionally as he watched the minutes pass on his phone. In hindsight, it would have been more convenient to use the microwave to heat up the soup, though it was too late now. Served with some bread, the meal itself wasn’t impressive. That didn’t matter, it wasn’t as if Maxim had the capacity to appreciate a good meal right now. Yesterday he was so congested he couldn’t barely taste a thing. It eased slightly overnight, although his condition was still just as poor. </p><p>They ate in silence. Maxim propped his head up on a hand, eyes closed as he focused on finishing his bowl. After a few minutes, he raised his head. “This is good,” he commented.</p><p>“It’s… just canned stuff,” Timur admitted with a hint of embarrassment, though his honesty was appreciated. For the first time in days, Maxim smiled at him. A fluttering sensation settled in Timur’s chest and as he thought of what to say, he cursed himself for this reaction. They had been dating long enough, he didn’t understand why he looked so bashfully towards Maxim as if he was a crush. Falling apart under the older man’s gaze, Timur tried to gather himself. “You really think I’m capable of making good soup?”</p><p>Maxim considered the truth in that statement and raised a brow in contemplation. “You’re right.” He gave a cheeky grin, revealing his chipped canine. “This flu is frying my brain.”</p><p>In a feigned offence, Timur gave a light huff. He picked up their empty bowls and as he passed by, he pressed a begrudging kiss onto Maxim’s greying temple. “Get some more rest. The recruits miss you,” he murmured. </p><p>Outside of being sick, Maxim never had a particularly sensitive sense of smell and he was blind to the stench of cigarette smoke that followed him everywhere he went. For Timur, he got used to it, though it was always at the back of his mind and something he associated strongly with the man he loved. The simple act of taking in the scent until his head whirled, how it was so offensive yet comforting at the same time. Though when Timur exited the bathroom, he knew in that precise moment Maxim snuck out for a cigarette. </p><p>Their eyes met as Timur stepped into the bedroom, briefs hugging close on his muscular thighs and an old t-shirt draping off his strong build. He dumped his dirty clothes into the laundry basket before shooting Maxim a scrutinising look. There he was, sprawled out on their bed, hair sticking out in all directions, patchy stubble growing darker by the day. Thin lips were chapped, drained of all colour and he was still clad in those pair of boxers that were ancient and falling apart. At the sight of them, Timur realised Maxim hadn’t showered in several days since the last time he was forcibly pulled into the bathtub for a warm bath to clear his sinuses. </p><p><em> Gross. </em> Yet Timur <em> loved </em> Maxim Basuda in all his disgusting forms. This pitiful sight in front of him of his dishevelled man, mustering the last of his energy to twist his lips into an enticing grin that invited Timur to scoop him up within his arms and hold him until he healed. Though he didn’t, he sat down at the edge of their bed and sniffed the air some more. </p><p>“Remember when you coughed so hard you nearly passed out?” Timur brought up, slipping under the warm covers. He adjusted his pillow and lay down, slightly peeved at the fact it wasn’t as cold as he expected. When he wasn’t in bed, Maxim rolled over every inch of it and the imprints left on the cover told Timur he’d just been on that side of the bed before the shower stopped running. “It’s gonna take longer for you to get better.”</p><p>That smug bastard, smiling because he knew Timur would forgive him regardless if he grovelled or not. “So you’d rather deal with the flu and me withdrawing at the same time?” Maxim offered as he shifted onto his side to sling an arm across Timur’s torso. </p><p>“If you quit months ago like I suggested, that wouldn’t be the case now, would it?” </p><p>That was true. Although Maxim did try, he went two months without touching a cigarette. It took one mission to dismantle all this progress and he grew to realise he simply wasn’t as resilient as he thought he was. While Timur was quick to urge him to drop the unhealthy addiction, he understood how rough this job could get and as always, he was too soft on Maxim. </p><p>Timur pulled him into a closer embrace and relaxed at the sensation of rough stubble against his sensitive neck. A sickly heat radiated from Maxim’s body, an uncomfortable stickiness rested on his skin, though Timur didn’t mind. He nuzzled his face against Maxim’s coarse hair and let the sweet miasma fill every corner of his lungs.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>My Twitter is <a href="https://twitter.com/CompoundZ8">@CompoundZ8</a><br/>My Tumblr is <a href="https://erc-7.tumblr.com">erc-7</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>